These New Days
by Sunny Sideways
Summary: Steve wasn't really adjusting. Or, one time each of his fellow Avengers made the 21st century a little bit easier.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I do not own The Avengers, nor do I own the related characters.

**Notes: **Hello all. This is my first crack at an Avengers story. I, like many others, couldn't help myself after seeing the wonderful movie. Five chapters for each of the remaining members of the Avengers, and possibly an epilogue. I started with Clint Barton because I wasn't so sure how to write his relationship with Steve Rogers, so hopefully it turns out okay. _Please_ let me know what you think. And enjoy. Thanks!

**These New Days**

It was Veteran's Day, his 'team' was avoiding him like the plague, and Steve Rogers was completely okay with that. He was grateful they were staying at a distance, and it would have worked really well for him if everyone else in this stupid place would do the same. Staying at the Stark Tower didn't bode well for someone who just wanted everyone to go away.

Not that there were too many people besides the six of them and Pepper here at any given moment, but the mornings were always busier and this one was no exception.

He hadn't slept in over three days, and while he didn't need as much sleep as everyone else it was taking a toll on him. Not to mention the countless hours in the gym (which had been enhanced for his superior strength) that probably hadn't helped. As such, Steve decided to use exhaustion as an excuse for the fact that the numerous salutes he received as he wandered this morning made him want to cry. But he hadn't cried since his last lifetime and he wasn't going to start now.

So when an older man Steve knew he knew but couldn't place practically cornered him in the hallway, he was pretty sure he was suffocating. He was half listening, heard the quite repetitive spiel about _Captain America_ and _hero _and _soldier_, but couldn't focus on anything until a booming voice took over every sense he had. He forced himself to turn his head to the left where he was greeted by two men, both of whom had been giving him a look of trepidation until he glanced their way.

"Gentlemen!" Thor exclaimed, false enthusiasm as he slapped the other man on the back leaving Steve eternally grateful. The demigod nodded almost imperceptibly towards Steve, then towards Clint, and then turned all his attention towards the older man who had been rattling on, "Might you show me around the upstairs laboratory? I could use a brilliant mind for a tour!"

The man was too flabbergasted by Thor's unexpected praise to realize that the words were entirely fabricated, and he smiled perhaps even wider if possible. He allowed one more look at Steve again, his face falling serious for a brief moment, "Happy Veteran's Day, sir. Thank you, Captain," before he turned and followed Thor down the hall and to an elevator.

The words were so sincere Steve couldn't breathe.

He wasn't really sure what had happened, but he was pretty sure there was a muttered swear and then firm hands were practically shoving him through a sliding door and onto a wooden chair, "Take a damn breath!"

Okay, so there was a good chance Steve had been holding his breath, and when he finally exhaled he felt a little dizzy. It wasn't something he had felt since he was getting beat up in a back alley, and it was nice to think that he might still be that guy. And with Clint standing over him with a worried eye, he reminded Steve so much of Bucky that he couldn't physically keep looking at him.

"You good?"

Steve breathed deeply, the air trapped in tight lungs, "Yeah. Yeah, sorry."

Clint looked at him for another moment and then nodded, satisfied, and pulled up another chair- close enough to Steve for comfort but not closer than he knew the other man wanted. After giving Steve an appraising look, Clint sighed, rested one arm on the table and scraped at the peeling wood, "Stark has been working on getting them all out of here for the day. They're a bit…"

"Suffocating?"

Clint fixed him with a look that Steve couldn't quite place, "I was going to say _proud_. But yeah, that too."

Steve snorted and flexed his hands impulsively on his knees, his body finally rebelling after not having sat this still in nearly three days, "Yeah. _Proud_," he paused and looked away from the other man, "It's not the same, you know? As it was."

"It's been seventy years. I don't think it's supposed to be the same."

It was such a simple answer for such a complicated situation, but it was more of the truth than Steve thought he had been told in a very long time.

"You should get some rest. I mean, you do need sleep, don't you? At least a little bit."

Steve shrugged, "Can't sleep. Not today. I used to _always_ do something on this day- I was usually the only one left behind who could." He'd like to pretend that wasn't bitterness in his voice, because he'd give anything to go back to those days. To Bucky and to Peggy and even to scrawny Steve getting his ass kicked in every alley in Brooklyn. Because here he was larger than life to these people and to the press, yet he still felt smaller than he ever had.

Clint nodded slowly, "Well nowadays you won't be alone in celebrating. Or mourning. I don't know what the hell we are, a team or whatever, but I know that we're all pretty much set in never being left behind."

The words made Steve feel oddly… warm. He and Clint weren't particularly close, were probably friends by default but he was a good man and it was nice talking to someone so human after spending so much time talking to Tony Stark. He was sure that somewhere deep down Stark was just as human as the rest of them, but he and Steve spent way too much time at each other's throats to see much of it. It was a reassuring thought actually, and one he didn't wholly object to: being part of some sort of group.

Especially when he had absolutely nothing else.

"Yeah," Steve agreed, clearing his throat and pretending there wasn't so much emotion there, "I know. It's strange, I guess, being without _them_," if Clint didn't know which _them_ he was referring to, he didn't ask and Steve was grateful, "Being with all of you who know me as…" he looked down at his hands in his lap and made some weird gesture that he meant to encompass his whole body, "_This_. Pre-serum wasn't so, uh," he snorted and the sound was entirely unamused, "Impressive."

Clint frowned and Steve really didn't know why he had kept talking. God knows Clint probably hadn't prepared for the pep talk he was going to have to give.

"Sorry," Steve smirked nervously and ran a hand through his hair, dropping it back into his lap, "Let's just do something to, to celebrate today, yeah?"

"Yeah," Clint agreed slowly, "I think that's a good idea. And I get you're done with this and that's fine, I'm just going to throw something out there, Cap."

The familiar nickname always had an implication of respect that left Steve feeling oddly pressured. Conversely, the lack of the inflection would probably leave him feeling empty and he really needed to make up his mind.

Clint didn't wait for an invitation to continue, "I'm going to take it they didn't just choose you randomly off the streets to be good ol' Captain America. So that leads me to believe that there was something _impressive_ there before the serum," he finished with a pointed look and then stood, clapping Steve on the shoulder, "Come upstairs when you're ready and we'll find a fitting way to show our honor."

And he was gone from the room before Steve could say or do anything except sit there feeling dumbstruck. That warmth from before, that feeling of a team and being part of something, was back full force and Steve was suddenly and overwhelming grateful for Clint- for all of them, really. He smirked again, and this time there wasn't any resentment or bitterness there. And when he stood, it was with honest to God wholeness that he hadn't had in… longer than he cared to admit. Maybe even seventy years.

Whether it be tomorrow or the next day or the next week, he was sure he would mourn them again. Mourn everything he lost and everything he never knew. But today, he would celebrate Veteran's Day and everything they had achieved- everything the whole _world_ had achieved while he'd been "doing time as a capsicle".

Maybe this whole team thing, these new friends in this new time, wasn't going to be so bad after all.

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	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I do not own The Avengers, nor do I own the related characters.

**Notes: **I don't know what else to say except thank you all _so much_ for your overwhelming support for this story. I can only hope that the remaining chapters live up to your expectations. This chapter is longer than the last, and I'd venture to say it will probably be the longest in the whole story. Also, this chapter will have a little bit of swearing per the rating. Thank you all again, and I sincerely hope you enjoy this one!

**These New Days**

This was bad.

From the very beginning, from Clint briefly mentioning an uneasy feeling to Natasha misplacing her favorite knife, this was all very, very bad.

It hadn't started out so bad though- aside from the annoying part that they were in a real life goddamn cave. Which was more irritating than problematic- that was until they were losing. Actually losing like they hadn't ever before, and these aliens (robots? he really had no idea what they were) were unique and strong in a way few other things had been in the past.

Natasha had, unsurprisingly, found another weapon and was using it like it was second nature, and right now she and Steve were the only ones Tony could see. He heard yelling though, would occasionally see a big green blob barreling through- and really, how bad could things get when you had a Hulk?

All in all, they were adjusting pretty well as a team.

They were getting better at anticipating each other's moves, and at times it surprised even them at how well they could work together without discussing a detailed plan in advance.

Because of that, being outnumbered and pretty much outmatched now didn't worry any of them as much as it probably should have. After all, Iron Man was everything Tony Stark wanted it to be and more, the Hulk was pretty much a machine that decimated every evil being in its way, Barton and Natasha were so good it almost didn't seem human (and was incredibly impressive that it actually was), and Captain America was pretty remarkable considering his weapon of choice was about as passive as it got.

All of this aside and even if it was ten times worse, Tony wasn't really one to worry. Especially about these people (though he couldn't _quite_ hold the façade of not caring anymore).

"Cap- _move_!"

Fittingly, he wasn't even worried as he turned around, temporarily distracted, to see Steve pull his shield around his back as he was bombarded, and he didn't panic when another one of the irritating creatures caught Captain America off guard from the front.

And he _probably_ didn't panic when Steve staggered backwards and then fell to his knees, and Tony was perfectly fine as he fought off the rest of their attackers before they could do any more damage.

Natasha yelled, and he could tell she was fighting to get over to Steve, her eyes suddenly unusually apprehensive as she watched him on his knees, one hand bracing his weight on the ground and the other arm wrapped around his stomach, breathing in deep spurts. Tony held out a steel hand to her- they couldn't afford to both stay with him. "Go." She didn't move, even though they both knew there wasn't much she could do here, "_Go! _We'll get out of here!"

After another hesitant glance at Steve, she fled, her back gone and one of the two remaining alien robots following her. Tony didn't so much as bat an eye to take out the other. Wordlessly, he lowered the head of the iron suit and turned around.

And of course, the second he thought they were in the clear, he turned back to Steve just in time to see him collapse to the ground, eyes closed. And really (_please, no_) could Captain America actually die?

"Rogers, hey!" he called, kneeling down and rolling him over so he was on his back. And what he saw answered that question- yes, with claw like protrusions sticking out from your abdomen, probably anyone (except maybe the Hulk) could die, "Son of a _bitch_."

"Okay, Cap, we just gotta-" he cut off, pulling Steve towards the wall, a painful three feet away, and propping him up against it. Tony gave Steve's face a not so gentle slap (especially with a steel hand) on the face and pulled him up again when he started to slouch, "I'm not carrying your lazy ass out of here, Spangles. Wake up."

When Steve started to move his head a little, Tony diverted his attention, staring at the claws protruding from the other man's abdomen and suddenly extremely unsure as to what the hell he should do about _that_. The bad news was that something inside him had definitely been pierced or torn or something, but the good news was that probably an oddly fortunate mix of the super serum and the claw depth was keeping most of his blood on the inside. At least Tony could use this as justification as to why, though it was probably hurting the Captain like a son of a bitch, he wasn't going to just yank them out.

Steve lifted a slow hand to the wound, his eyes clearing up just a little, and Tony slapped it away, "Easy. Easy, we're going to get out of here once you're good to-"

Murphy's Law.

Murphy's-fucking-Law was all Tony could think about as the walls around them rumbled. He ducked down, partially intentionally covering Steve's body with his own, and thank God the Captain still had quick reflexes, because Stark realized a second too late that his head was still uncovered. But truly atoning to the remarkable soldier bit, Steve had a sudden burst of adrenaline fueled energy and yanked his discarded shield from next to them, bringing it up and covering both of their exposed skulls as the walls came down around them.

After what seemed like a lifetime- and did Tony mention he really hated caves?- the rumbling stopped and left behind an unusually eerie silence. Steve's shield dropped loudly to the floor, its owner closing his eyes from the physical exertion. Tony moved away, doing a quick once over of Steve and then turning around, the view of the cave leaving a pit in his stomach, "Stay," he ordered with a pointed finger towards his fallen comrade, who didn't open his eyes but Tony imagined that if he could there'd be a 'where the hell do you think I'd go?' glare gracing his features.

He stood, looking around the suddenly caved in wall for any weak spots, and was slightly put out when he honestly didn't see a single one. Iron Man didn't necessarily need a weak spot though, so he lifted a hand and began his attempt to pierce through the rock.

Tony didn't know how long he kept it up, his fight and Steve's haggard breath the only sound in the cave, but he did know that he really wasn't making a difference at all. Even after a strict order to put everything they had into the thrusters, the rock didn't so much as budge. They were trapped in a cave in, contained in a suffocatingly small space, and God only knew how much rock was separating them and the outside world. And even if Natasha recalled their exact location (which was a feat in the first place, because _everything_ here looked exactly the same), there'd be no telling if they'd be able to pinpoint the exact spot to begin digging.

Pretty much, now was a really inconvenient time for Captain America to be wounded with anyone other than the Hulk.

"Okay, so good news and bad news," Tony began, crouching in front of Steve again and frowning at the sweat covering his strained forehead. Steve cracked open his eyes just a little as Tony continued, "The good news is that I've been able to exercise the suit and also I'd say it's pretty good news that we aren't rock soup by now. The bad news is that my exercise didn't do shit and we're, you know, stuck in a cave in and you're all bloody and crap. Perfect timing, by the way."

Steve didn't even bother glaring, "So what now?"

Tony ignored the way the words were more of a pant than anything coherent, and instead lowered the head of his suit and spoke, "JARVIS, compute my location. Inform Ms. Potts that we are trapped and Rogers is wounded. We could use some Hulk power."

"Yes sir."

Tony smirked and Steve very nearly rolled his eyes as Tony's face was exposed again, "Now? You keep up that nice raspy breathing you have going, and we wait."

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"JARVIS, status."

"We have your location, sir. However, you and your counterparts are separated by at least twenty feet of solid rock. They are working to get you out."

"Well tell them to work faster!" Tony looked nervously at Steve, sitting shoulder to shoulder next to him against the wall. The blonde's head was back, his eyes closed and the air spitting out between his clenched teeth in what was clearly a struggle, "Hang in there, Cap. Apparently the Hulk isn't as strong as we thought. They're getting us out of here, but as far as I can tell we were damn close to being crushed to death with all the damn rock standing in their way. But we're gonna get out of here."

Tony believed that, he knew it for a fact.

He just didn't know if it'd be in time.

But he wouldn't panic yet, even with the legendary Captain America dying right next to him, because in the grand scheme of things, he owed Steve Rogers a lot more than that.

"I'm sorry, for-" Steve didn't look over and hissed between tightly gritted teeth, "For when we first met. For being-"

"Don't," Tony said sharply, partially because he wasn't one for apologies and partially because it was actually painful listening to Steve try to talk. He adjusted, his knees raised and his arms lying over them, "I don't particularly care for apologies, give them to someone who does. I think we were both out of line. Apologies don't change anything anyway- Stark Industries certainly knows that."

One side of Steve's mouth turned up, and another time he probably would have called Tony out on his mistakes. Instead, he slowly lifted a shaking hand and dropped it onto Tony's steel knee, his other arm still wrapped around his own midsection. Steve patted once and then let his hand fall back to the ground again, rolling his head towards the other man.

"I could see them again," he croaked, his eyes just barely open towards Tony.

And if that didn't set off alarm bells, nothing would.

Tony gave him a sharp look, "Not now, Captain," he said coolly, "_America_ needs you now."

Steve shook his head slowly, "Not sure," he muttered, "America has the rest of you," the words were clipped, and when he was finished he laid his head back against the wall like the cut sentence had taken all the energy out of him. Tony didn't like to think that it probably had.

"Funny," Tony began, an irritated snort prefacing the words, "My dad talked of this great _hero_. He didn't talk about much except himself, but he talked about you."

"Your father," Steve interrupted, panting, "Was a _great man_."

"For you," he snapped, "A great man for you. He talked about a scrawny kid who jumped on top of a grenade when everyone else ran away. Pre-serum, if I remember right. Pretty impressive, can't say I'd do the same. I'm not sure I believe him anymore though, because the man he knew wouldn't have given up. My father would have been _ashamed_ if he had," Tony's tone was clipped, the infliction almost as cruel as the words. He glanced down at Steve's stomach, his own rolling at the deep red staining the usually bright uniform.

This wasn't getting better.

Natasha would kill him if he let Steve die. Tony Stark wasn't afraid of much, but the famous Black Widow angry with a knife? That was something he'd really try to avoid at all costs.

"America is still the same, Cap. Maybe not in World War II and maybe not with Hitler, but there's always a war and there's always someone who is sitting around ordering death because they think it's fun. And I guarantee that the people from your time would want you to keep fighting in our time," Tony glanced over at Steve and then nudged him not-so-gently, "Got me, Rogers?"

"So, pretty… pretty much," Steve mumbled, "You're saying you need me?"

Even pale, sweaty and bleeding he still managed to look a little smug.

"Even though I know you'd like to base your whole life on my needs- no. _I _don't need you, but have you seen the rest of the team? Pretty sad. And that's with a leader. I'd hate to see how they'd be like without one."

Steve still smiled slightly at that, and even though he wasn't looking, Tony returned the slight grin. They were a good team; there was absolutely no denying that- no matter what. Being at each other's throats was kind of what they did. It helped them solve problems, kept them sharp. They had mutual respect and they had friendship, even if it was in a twisted kind of way. There was no way he was sitting next to Captain America as he faded away, because Tony Stark knew that if the positions were reversed, Steve would do anything and everything to save him.

Besides, with a couple assassins, a demigod from another planet, a monster and a machine-for-a-heart, the team really needed what Steve had. That was, the heart of a good soldier. One who fought with a damn shield because he didn't want to kill and who always seemed to know exactly what to do.

The Avengers might be a group of freaks, but they were pretty good at balancing out each other's freaky selves.

"Sir, the layer of rocks has been penetrated. Brace yourself for incoming forces shortly."

The voice from the computer connected to the steel made Tony feel like he could sink with relief. _About time_. "Okay, maybe Hulky isn't so bad. We're home free, Cap. Good thing too, because you're sweating so much you're starting to stink and it's really cramping my style."

Tony braced his hands on his knees and went to stand. He offered a look towards Steve, fully intending on rising and taking the other man with him, but instead froze. Something really wasn't right this time. Captain America's unnatural stillness was borderline eerie and Tony could have sworn he himself suddenly couldn't breathe either, "Come on, Cap," he grabbed Steve's chin and pulled it towards him, "_Shit._"

Powerful footsteps shook the earth below them and for the first time in what felt like years, voices could be heard through what Tony assumed was now a very thin layer of rock.

"They're here now, Captain," Tony said, still on one knee in front of the still man, "Don't make it look like I didn't make you fight, pretty boy!"

A smash shook the rock and Tony searched Steve's face with suddenly pleading eyes, "Rogers?"

Another loud crack brought light shining through, and when Hulk's roar filled his ears, Tony was sure it was the best thing he had ever heard. Tony pressed his covered hands on the blood around the Captain's wound as the cave filled. He thought it was Natasha who dropped to her knees next to them, maybe Clint too and Tony was pretty sure Thor was yelling at someone to help, but he couldn't look away from the slack face in front of him.

"Damnit, _Steve!_"

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He was hesitant to open his eyes.

Last time he was injured (perhaps a bit of an understatement for _both_ occurrences), he awoke to a bright room that was entirely a lie and left him almost seventy years in the future.

So, this time he wasn't so sure he wanted to open them up to see what awaited him.

"It's okay, everything is still the same. I promise."

When he did open his eyes, it was more out of surprise from the occupant of the room than it was because he was overly fond of the idea, "Pepper," he muttered, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat and tried again, "Pepper."

She shoved a glass into his hand, "Drink."

He nodded gratefully and adjusted himself, sitting up with a tight hiss. She pressed gentle hands on his shoulder, pushing him back against the pillow with a stern eye. Steve took a sip, the cool water sliding down his throat as the memory of why he was here suddenly assaulted him, "How's Tony?"

Pepper smiled, sitting at the foot of the bed, "Mr. Stark is as joyful as usual," she gave him an appraising look that left Steve feeling uncomfortably exposed, "Making some alterations to your uniform as we speak. He's made it his number one priority since we got you guys back. I'd wager that the next time you wear it- mind you, it won't be for at least a week until you get back on your feet- but I'd say it will be pretty much completely impenetrable."

Steve looked down and examined the white bandages sticking out from the bottom of his t-shirt, "How bad was it?"

"Pretty bad. You weren't conscious when they got to the cave. I don't know what you said or did, you know, other than the whole almost dying thing, but Tony was pretty rattled," Pepper smiled fondly and Steve could see the attraction Tony had for her immediately, "Granted his rattled is our everyday calm."

While he had been surprised to see her here upon first waking, Steve kind of thought it made sense now. God knows Tony wouldn't have told Steve himself that he was 'rattled' by the situation. Granted, Steve only remembered bits and pieces, but the main gist stood out. Somewhere between '_a scrawny kid who jumped on top of a grenade' _and _'America's still the same_' he figured he had lost some information, but judging from the strong feeling of gratitude he was having towards the other man at the moment, Steve figured the conversation had had a greater meaning.

Pepper was kind of like the keeper for all of the Avengers- stern, smart and in charge but also containing an incredible capacity for empathy. Hell, she kept them all grounded just by keeping Tony grounded.

"So that's why he's changing my uniform?"

"Yeah, that certainly did it."

"And everyone else? Did they get the aliens- robots- whatever?" Steve couldn't remember if they had been calling them anything specific, besides Tony's choice words for how annoying they were.

Pepper smirked, "Yup, they got them. Still haven't named them, but everyone is okay. Just concerned about their Captain. They've all been waiting for you to wake up, though none of them doubted that you would," she paused and then stood, "I'm going to get someone to check on those bandages now that you're awake. I… hope you know how much this team needs you, Steve. And how much Mr. Stark respects you and your friendship, even if he has a slightly… unusual way of showing it. He wouldn't have been working on your suit for the past two days if he didn't, after all."

She smiled knowingly at his silence, and then squeezed his shoulder softly, "I'll get someone in here. No moving around, understand?"

Steve nodded, clearing his throat against the sudden block there, "Got it, ma'am. Thank you," and judging by the look she gave him, she definitely knew the depth of that appreciation. He watched her go and then leaned his head back against the pillow, though there was too much on his mind for him to be tired.

_Scrawny kid who jumped on top of a grenade_.

Steve hoped they all knew how much he appreciated and respected them too. Would even go as far as to say that he needed them at this point. After all, it was hard not to need the people who kept you alive on pretty much a daily basis. Not to mention the fact that Tony's diligence on improving his suit made him feel almost embarrassingly pleased.

_America is still the same, Cap_.

First and foremost, Tony Stark was right- not that Steve would ever say it aloud.

As long as America was still the same as it was back then, then its people still needed him the same. He had seventy years of not defending his country to make up for, and he'd be damned if he let _anyone _down now.

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	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I do not own The Avengers, nor do I own the related characters.

**Notes: **Hello all! I know I said it before, but I truly can't thank you all enough for your positive reception to this story. I so appreciate all of you who have favorited, alerted, or reviewed this story- and all who have bothered to read it at all. That being said, I am not very thrilled with how this chapter turned out. I liked the original idea, but I'm not sure about the execution. Please let me know what you think, I really appreciate everyone's opinions. Also, I apparently lied about Tony's chapter being the longest! Regardless, enjoy and thanks for reading!

**These New Days**

It was a simple fact he couldn't avoid no matter how hard he tried.

Natasha reminded him of Peggy.

Not physically so much, but more so the way she acted and the way she just _was_. All strong and in control all the time, the kind of woman they all were slightly afraid of though they'd never admit it. Natasha could take a serious beat down and hardly wince, and his Peggy had been the exact same way. Steve was learning that it wasn't quite the same now, but back then at least, a woman as high up in the army as she had been was pretty impressive. Very few men would have fancied her bad side.

And now, on a team full of men much like Peggy was in an Army full of men, Natasha was so much like the woman he had loved that Steve sometimes was caught between simultaneously not being able to take his eyes off her, and also finding it physically painful to watch the similarities.

The difference was that, because of his feelings for Natasha individually, Steve sometimes even forgot she was a woman at all. Hell, she fought like them and drank like them and never acted as anything less than them, and if she ever caught them distinguishing her for being female she'd probably do some pretty unfortunate things to _their _distinguishing parts when they least expected it.

And damn if that wasn't exactly like Peggy had been.

It was laughable to him, imagining a man judging either of them by their gender.

He certainly wasn't stupid enough to do it back then, and he wouldn't do it now. Along the same lines, both of them had similarly earned his respect two-fold. They were both brave and unstoppable and Steve didn't know if he could ever move on with Natasha there serving as a constant reminder of what he had lost.

Which made this all even more ironic, because Natasha was always there and would always be there (and it was a good thing too, because she had saved all of their asses on more than one occasion). And regardless of how he felt, Steve knew he had to accept that and separate the past and the present in his mind if he was ever going to stop living in the 1940s.

Also, and perhaps more pressing, Steve knew Natasha had noticed him staring her down a few times. And aside from the fact that it was probably just a little creepy, he could also tell it was really irritating her; and again, pissing Natasha off was something he actively tried to avoid. And to make that work, he decided to just avoid her outside of most all situations not relating to the Avengers Initiative. Which, when the team first formed would have been fine, but now it was a little more difficult to avoid someone you essentially lived with.

It also was made much more difficult to avoid someone when you always happened to find yourself in the same room as them.

"…Hey," Steve greeted, internally swearing as he clenched the newspaper tightly in his hand.

Natasha was sitting on floor on the balcony, her legs folded underneath her while practiced hands sharpened weapons Steve wasn't even sure he could name. She looked up at him for a moment, and then back down towards her work, "Hey. How's the news?"

Tony and Clint made fun of him for reading the newspaper every morning, but he just couldn't get accustomed to their computers and every other technological advancement that was trying to make the _old-fashioned_ newspaper obsolete. Steve insisted it be delivered every morning, and even though he had a hard time believing that a paper boy dropped off the thick bundle to bustling Stark Towers every morning, he wasn't going to question how he received it as long as he did.

Steve looked towards the door and then at the paper in his hands. He couldn't bring himself to be so rude as to just turn around and walk back inside, so instead he pulled up a chair on the far side of the large balcony and unfolded the paper, "Depressing," he finally answered. Much more so than it had been every morning seventy years ago- and that was during World War II.

She snorted, "Yeah, there's a reason we don't pay attention to it."

"Doesn't matter, I can't keep up anyway," he muttered, harshly flipping to the next page and hopefully to a story that didn't involve technological words that made no sense with people he'd never heard of before.

Natasha glanced up at him for a moment, "You'll get used to it, Steve," she said honestly, waiting until he looked at her to give him a rare smile, "Just give it time."

He nodded slowly in appreciation, studying her long after she had looked away. This wasn't the first time that her compassion had caught him by surprise. He knew she was a good person, never doubted that for a second, and she had seen her reassure Clint before, but that was something that was usually strictly reserved for Hawkeye. Although occasionally Bruce got some of that side too, but Steve knew they had bonded while on the ship for their first mission. All in all, it was odd for that compassion to be directed at him, but he wasn't going to fight a good thing.

Sometimes the little reassurances were nice.

"Okay," Natasha interrupted his thoughts with a sigh.

How long had he been staring at her?

He blinked and refocused to her slightly annoyed face, although he could have sworn there was a little bit of concern there too.

"Why do you do that?" It wasn't quite an accusation, more a genuine question that impressively held back whatever annoyance she had.

"Do what?" he replied, a little too quickly.

"Why do you keep _staring_ at me?"

He felt his cheeks start to flush and turned his head, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"Trust me, it takes more to make me uncomfortable than Captain America staring me down. You aren't exactly a threat, softy," if he had looked at her, he would have seen the amusement on her face, but she frowned when he instead didn't even try to meet her eyes, "Seriously, Steve. I didn't ask for an apology."

"It's just…" he shifted his feet awkwardly and finally glanced back over to her. A knife was lying in her lap, forgotten, and her look was genuinely perplexed in a way that left him feeling more than a little guilty, "You just, you remind me of someone. It's nothing, really," he placed the newspaper on the small table next to him and stood, giving her a brief forced smile before turning towards the door.

He shouldn't have been surprised that she was on her feet and in front of him in a graceful and seemingly impossible second, one hand grasping his forearm. Now the annoyance was a little clearer.

Natasha wasn't exactly known for her patience.

"Just _tell_ me. Then if you need to keep staring or whatever, do it, fine, but if you don't tell me who it is then I can't-"

"Peggy," he interrupted suddenly, carefully schooling his features.

And for a brief, amusing moment, Steve wished someone else was there to appreciate how he had just left Natasha completely and unusually speechless.

"…Oh," she finally replied, "Okay."

This was officially one of the most awkward moments he had encountered in recent memory, if not the absolute most. Which was impressive, considering his time with Coulson (and damnit if that didn't still sting just a little bit).

They looked at each for another painful moment, and then she dropped his arm, "Okay, I'm going to go-"

And as much as he wanted to let her go and pretend this hadn't happened, he knew he couldn't. They had to be on a team, they had to depend on each other to save themselves and everyone else, and they couldn't be trusted with the lives of the rest of their team if they could hardly be in the same room, "Natasha, wait," he didn't reach out to grab her, but she stopped anyway, "We can't… I mean, I didn't mean to make things awkward."

"Bang up job, Rogers," she muttered, turning around and crossing her arms, "I don't want to stick around here as a constant reminder of what you lost; I won't do that to you. There are ways we can avoid-"

"Being in the same room? Does that sound practical to you? I just need time to…" he shifted hesitantly, and she kept her eyes on him but didn't press, "Move on."

A flash of something crossed her face, and Steve thought it reminded him a lot of sympathy. It certainly wasn't the first time someone had looked at him like that. But true to her form, it was instantly repressed and replaced with her usual coolness, leaving him incredibly grateful. Steve was really sick of people's pity- which was ironic because at the same time it kept him grounded. At least they knew why he was like this.

Natasha studied him for a long time before uncrossing her arms and letting them fall to her sides, "Do you think you can? Move on? I know it's not easy, Steve."

Did he think he could? Probably not. Should he try? Well he probably should at least give it a shot.

He nodded slowly in response, not quite sure he trusted any response he may have spit out.

"Okay then," she said resolutely, grabbing his arm again, this time pulling him towards the door, "We're going out."

Steve dug his feet into the ground to stop their movement, causing her to turn around and fix him with an exasperated glare, "_Out_?"

"Yeah, out. You know, kind of like where we just were except to _really_ go out we'd have to leave the property. Which is exactly what we're going to do. Tonight."

Then Natasha turned around and left Steve there, looking dumbfounded and realizing that he didn't really have an option.

It looked like he was going out for the night.

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So it turned out that when Natasha said 'out', it wasn't actually so different than when Steve used to go 'out' (not that he ever made a habit of it, unless Bucky happened to be going somewhere and dragged him with).

Just like seventy years before, he was standing in front of a busy cinema, and he was excited.

Unlike seventy years before, this time he was going alone with a gorgeous woman (not that he'd ever say it at the risk that she may rip out his vocal cords) and other than the fact that they were still called 'movie theaters', this place looked _nothing_ like the last theater he was at in Brooklyn. Things back there were definitely a bit… quieter. Although, pre-Captain America, everything in his life had been a bit _quieter_.

"Okay Cap, we don't have all day, the movie's about to start," Natasha said, dragging him forward.

He hadn't realized he had been standing so still, looking at the theater in awe. People were giving him weird looks, but Natasha was just smirking. Regardless, he moved to walk quickly behind her.

At least they weren't being recognized- not yet at least. That was one of the benefits of wearing a mask in combat, and also of not traveling with Tony Stark. If the two of them were with his immediately recognizable face, people usually could place them pretty quickly. But just Steve and Natasha out in public usually didn't garner too much reaction if they were quick from place to place. Or inside a dark movie theater.

Natasha walked up to the concessions counter with ease, ignored the leering cashier, and ordered more popcorn than Steve thought was necessary for the whole team, nonetheless just the two of them. He didn't say a word though, just watched the menu change to a movie preview. Once again, it took Natasha grabbing his arm and pulling him along to make him move. Snapping back to attention, he leaned over to grab the drinks she was carefully balancing and then followed her into the dark theater where she quickly chose seats.

Steve looked at the screen and then over towards Natasha, who looked quite pleased with herself.

"Thought this might be a little different," she said, throwing a piece of popcorn into her mouth and staring at the screen.

He snorted, "A little? This is…" the lights dimmed and he looked around, "…Incredible. What did you say the movie was about again?"

Steve had already asked her three times what the title was, but it was something weird that he couldn't remember, and quite frankly he wasn't so sure it mattered in the first placed.

She rolled her eyes, though she didn't seem irritated, and leaned over, "Don't focus on what it's about. It's a comedy. Just let it make you laugh and don't try to take the story seriously, okay? You'll ruin it."

He hadn't ever been one for movies with no point but he thought it better to just listen to her, beyond grateful for what she was doing for him and not wanting to push his luck. He readjusted in his seat as Natasha shoved a box of candy at him. It was already open and he didn't bother asking what they were before trying them. By the time the previews were done and his box of candy was gone, he thought he could have been satisfied just leaving then. After all, with all the information he had seen in those short previews, it was a lot like he had watched six whole movies in fifteen minutes.

Steve made a mental note both to keep his mouth shut (literally, because he thought it had been hanging ajar in attentiveness during the previews), and to ask Stark how the hell they got movies to be three dimensional.

An hour and a half later, he was staring at rolling credits and his cheeks hurt from laughing.

Natasha stood, stretching up on her toes, and then looking down at him in amusement- Steve was fairly convinced about three quarters of her mid-viewing laughter came from the kick he was getting out of the movie rather than her own interest.

"So? What'd you think?"

He just shook his head, a smile still playing on his lips, and then stood as well, "That was… ridiculous."

"Good!"

Steve let Natasha lead the way out of the theater, following her without question as she maneuvered her way through the crowds and out to the much quieter sidewalk. He fell into an even pace next to her, glancing her way when he finally noticed she was pretty much staring at him, "What? Did you not like the movie?"

She actually laughed out loud, "Are you kidding? It was the stupidest thing I have ever seen in my life. And I've seen Barton do a _lot_ of stupid things. Come on, this way."

"This isn't the way to-"

"I _told_ you, we're staying out tonight," she grabbed his arm and pulled him down a side road, "One movie isn't enough to say you went out and had a good time, Rogers. It couldn't have been in the forties either."

Steve sighed though he didn't argue. He'd be lying if he said the stupid movie hadn't cheered him up just a little- and judging by the small smirk that remained on her face, Natasha had obviously had a good time too. As such, he wasn't too surprised to be standing in front of a busy bar ten minutes later, and it also wasn't too surprising to see it was a bit shady. Easier to not be recognized, he supposed. And it wasn't like they couldn't hold their own.

But the type of bar they were at still didn't change the general facts.

"You know alcohol doesn't really do anything for me," it wasn't a question. Steve knew they all knew that. He had dealt with a pretty unfortunate night for a sober man where the rest of his team was hammered (except maybe Thor, though whatever he was drinking did mess with him a little, and Steve would bet money it wasn't from _their_ planet), and he was left sitting around feeling slightly awkward and more than a little amused.

"Doesn't matter," Natasha responded, walking in front of him and in through dingy wooden doors, "We're not here _just_ to get drunk."

Turned out for Natasha, not _just_ getting drunk still meant getting decently drunk, but Steve was having so much fun he hardly noticed.

"So-so what, Clint just _tackled_ the guy?"

She laughed loudly, something she only did when she had had too much to drink, and took another sip out of a tall bottle, "Yes! Got himself shot like an asshole too. Not one of his prouder moments, and he has the scar on his arm to prove it!"

Steve chuckled, shaking his head and reaching over to take a swig of his beer. He wasn't drunk, obviously, but he was more relaxed than he had been in a long time.

Natasha's laughter died down and not for the first time, they sat in a comfortable silence.

She was looking around, seemed to be thinking about something pretty hard, and Steve was about two seconds away from asking about it when she opened her mouth again, "There are some things that make this time a lot better, you know. Technologically speaking and otherwise, too. Like our weapons- and not just the ones produced by Stark Industries, but all over the place- in every country. It's pretty phenomenal."

Steve frowned, though his voice wasn't as put out as it usually was when the past was brought up, "These _advanced_ weapons cause more deaths than ever before."

Natasha thought about that for a second and then nodded, "They _save_ more lives too."

After a long minute, Steve smiled slightly, "Okay. What else you got?"

She hardly hesitated, "Let's see… lingerie that women wear practically everywhere. Specialty stores for every single thing you could ever think of. Um… millions of flavors of ice cream. The internet. Google. Cell phones," Natasha grinned wickedly, and then spoke a little louder, looking away from Steve and towards the bartender for a moment, "And Sex on the Beach."

If Steve had been drinking, he probably would have done a spit take, "What the-"

Natasha held up a hand, silencing him and waiting a minute until a glass was slid across the table and into her waiting grasp. She smirked and shoved the glass towards Steve, "It's a _drink_, Captain Pervert. Try it. Oh, and speaking of cell phones, I was elected to tell you to _carry yours_. They aren't very useful sitting on the kitchen counter 24/7."

Steve shook his head, marveling at her less-than-sober ability to jump around subjects like they were rope, "I will start carrying the stupid phone, and who the hell names a drink that? I think the 21st century makes everything complicated just so it sounds better than it actually probably is."

She just snorted in response, "Whatever you say, old man!"

Steve was about to reply, pretty sure he should be offended but more amused than anything else, when strong hands suddenly clapped down on both of his shoulders.

"Captain Boring!"

Steve groaned, Natasha laughed, and Tony and Clint came around to their side, ordering drinks with ease and Toy Stark smiling cockily, "I can't believe Agent Romanoff here actually convinced you to go out in public!"

"Nice to see you too, Tony," Steve said, rolling his eyes. He didn't have the energy to be annoyed with the other man, and perhaps if he wasn't too busy focusing on his irritation, he might even find Tony Stark to be somewhat amusing.

"Ah, yes, I'm a pleasure as usual," Tony pulled up a chair and slouched down, propping his feet up on the edge of Natasha's chair.

"He's already been drinking," Clint said pointedly towards Steve, "Can you tell?" He leaned over and sniffed Natasha's drink, seemingly deeming it acceptable before taking a sip.

She glared at both of them, "Seriously, I wouldn't have invited you assholes here if I knew you'd already be drunk- get off my seat, Stark; and don't touch my drink again, Barton, or I'll rip your fingers off!" She shoved Tony away and grabbed her glass back as both men retaliated, though Steve found it amusing that they did so with words rather than risking either of their previous actions again.

Steve leaned back, a small smile on his lips as their bickering turned into ranting about Bruce's addiction to the lab and then Tony and Clint discussing the mechanics behind Thor sleeping with Jane as Natasha groaned, "Thanks dicks, you've painted a really nice picture," she growled, taking a long sip of her drink.

Every so often Natasha would nudge him with her foot, occasionally full out kicking him if he ignored her for too long, giving him encouraging smiles which usually led to him being roped into a conversation he didn't particularly want to have. But with her pretty smile directed at him every time he got distracted, Tony making fun of him like they were- God forbid- _good friends_, and Clint patting him on the shoulder with pretty much every word directed his way, it was hard to have anything but a good time.

And when he woke up the next morning, he and Bruce the only lucky occupants who weren't popping Advil like candy, Natasha was back to being solely a badass and he and Tony were back to annoying the hell out of each other.

But Steve couldn't help to really _see_ Natasha every time he looked at her. See her being compassionate and empathetic in a way he hadn't really noticed twenty four hours ago. Later, it would dawn on him that that was all he was seeing when he looked at her. Just her, just Natasha threatening all of their lives as often as humanly possible, saving his ass more than once, and laughing the loudest when they were all drinking. And while he may never say it to her face, he realized he truly owed her more than he could possibly repay.

He knew he hadn't thought about Peggy at all the night before.

And it was certainly a start.

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	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **I do not own The Avengers, nor do I own the related characters.

**Notes: **Once again, a huge thanks to everyone for reading this story, and to all of you who took the time to give me some feedback! I'm sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out, and with that being said… there will be another delay because I am leaving tomorrow to go on vacation for two and a half weeks. I already have part of the next chapter written though, and will hopefully finish it up and get it out not too long after I return. I'm sorry in advance for the long wait. Please let me know what you think about this chapter, and enjoy!

**These New Days**

They weren't on a mission; hell, they weren't even really on a recon. Not from SHIELD at least- more like their own little quest for information. Which involved Tony and Steve in some back alley (Tony knew this area a little _too_ well), interviewing a homeless man the news had marked as crazy, but Stark had marked as useful. But even Captain America was thinking he wouldn't like to be caught empty handed in this particular setting.

After an essentially useless conversation with a man who didn't even seem to speak their language, Tony and Steve walked back onto a relatively quiet street, the former complaining about a "lack of good intel" and using some colorful language to describe SHIELD.

Steve didn't think much about the kid who bumped into his shoulder, though he did turn around at the irritated "Watch where you're going!", and once his eyes met the other guy's, Steve instantly saw something change.

"Captain fucking America. Awesome," the kid growled, dark eyes flashing. He stood at least a head below Steve, probably twenty pounds lighter than Tony, but looked more murderous than Steve had seen from some of their worst enemies.

"Is there a problem?" Tony asked, also turning around. Steve wasn't exactly equipped to handle angry kids- needless to say, Captain America didn't get too much backlash on a day to day basis.

The kid all but ignored Tony's presence, dangerous eyes locked on Steve's face, "You think you're some fucking hero? Think you can play God? Decide who deserves to be saved and who you can let die?"

Tony tensed next to him, but Steve just looked taken aback at the words, "Look, I don't know what you're talking about, but maybe I-"

He was cut off by firm hands pressed up against his chest, shoving him backwards. Steve hardly stumbled, but the meaning was clear. He spoke quickly before Tony could get a word in, hoping the other man would back off and let Steve handle it, "Kid, why don't you try telling me what the problem is. I'm not going to fight you." Like the press wouldn't have a field day with _that_- Captain America fighting some scrawny kid on the street in the middle of the damn day.

Even better news would be Tony Stark fighting said kid, and Steve was a little worried Tony would take advantage of that.

"Jessica Watson," the kid spat, "That was her name- not that it makes any difference to you- my _sister_ who you let get crushed to death while you were busy fighting the '_greater good_'," he was positively shaking now, furious spittle flying from his mouth with every word, and for the first time, Steve saw raw grief behind the anger.

It left him with a pit in his stomach.

"I… I would have saved her if I could have, I promise you that. Why don't you tell me your name and we can-"

"She was _seventeen_, and a building crumbled on top of her. We-we couldn't even identify her body," the boy was in Steve's face now, manic eyes watering and voice quavering.

Steve didn't step back, heart like lead in his chest- he couldn't compete with grief like that from a kid who couldn't have been much older than his sister was, "I'm so sorry, I-"

He cut himself off, realizing that there was nothing he could possibly say to make this boy stop looking at him with utter disgust, and when the kid stepped back again, Steve thought he might be walking away. Instead, the kid stared at him icily for a moment, swallowing heavily.

Then the smaller boy spit- actually _spit_ on him.

And Steve was too busy being completely dumbfounded by the retaliation to do anything but stand there nearly frozen, slowly looking from the kid to the disgusting wad his chest.

Unfortunately, Tony had enough reaction for the both of them, suddenly angrier than Steve had ever seen him, literally vibrating with rage and right up in the kid's face. It may have been funny if Tony wasn't livid and the smaller boy didn't look about two seconds away from pissing his pants. It was a safe assumption that the kid wasn't anticipating his move gaining this reaction from the famous Tony Stark.

"Who the _hell-_" Tony began, his voice dangerous and his eyes narrow.

Steve interrupted him by grabbing his wrist tightly and pulling, attempting to regain his composure for the both of them. He yanked once on Tony's arm until he backed off, shoving himself between his friend and the kid. Steve put on his best stoic face, because suddenly this kid looked like he was having a flash of regret, looking nervously between Steve's face and his own fluid on the bigger man's chest.

They locked eyes for a moment and Steve nodded stiffly a single time, "I'm sorry for your loss," he said evenly.

Steve could hardly act like the boy's actions hadn't left him with a knot in his chest, somewhere between anger and shame. But instead of acknowledging it, he turned around and walked away; knowing Tony would follow him even though he was still visibly enraged.

Steve could pretend this wasn't the first time in his life he had ever walked away from a fight, but he _knew_ it was the first time that walking away was the right thing to do.

CƆ CƆ CƆ CƆ

"Captain!"

He didn't look over from the punching bag to correct, not unkindly, with: "Steve."

"Steve," Thor resigned, approaching the other man with his arms crossed. He looked positively uncomfortable in dark jeans and a t-shirt that didn't look like something he would have picked out himself. Steve wouldn't admit that they were all getting more than a little amusement out of the clothes Jane was obviously buying for him- not that they weren't appropriate, but Thor never quite seemed to know how to handle himself while wearing them.

"This should not be troubling you to this extent, my friend."

Steve's fist connected hard with the punching bag- harder than even his _usual_ hardest. The wrapping around his hand tore and he didn't stop.

Thor studied him with inquisitive eyes. It was one of Steve's favorite things about his demigod friend- Thor had the most expressive features. It was obvious in everything he did. Steve would even go as far as to say that Thor obviously cared about them as his friends and as a team before any of the rest of them even realized they _were_ a team. He was all the nobility and pride and _good_ the rest of the team was, all wrapped in one package.

Steve respected that.

But that didn't mean he always had to answer the guy.

Instead, he swung again, his hand now exposed, and it only stung a little bit. He pulled away, pretended he hadn't broken the skin, and went to swing again. This time, another hand intercepted. Steve's fist came to a halt an inch away from Thor's palm.

With that interruption, Steve finally looked over to the other man, straightening up.

"It is unfortunately not possible to save every soul we encounter. Nor is it our duty. You may be a soldier, but what we are experiencing is not war," Thor lowered his hand, locking level eyes with Steve.

Steve clenched his jaw, studying Thor for a moment, and then diverted his eyes. He turned around and began unraveling his hands, wiping carelessly at the blood smearing across his knuckles. Slumping down on a bench behind him, he finally looked back up at Thor, who had not moved and had instead recrossed his arms, "It's all the same, isn't it?" Steve said after a long moment, not waiting for nor expecting an answer, "Losing one to save many. Isn't that the whole damn point of war?"

"That may be what happens, but that is not, I believe, the _point_ of your wars. Sacrificing one life for the goodness of many is inevitable. We cannot afford to pretend like it has not happened before, nor that it won't happen again. It is not your fault the child died; there was little you could have done."

Steve scoffed, an unusual sound on his normally polite lips, and turned his attention back to his hands, "I may not have pulled the trigger, but I didn't still the hand that did."

And damn if that wasn't the whole problem. Because Steve had been thinking about it for months after his revival- and months before his 'death'. Now? Now he understood why the kid had wanted to hit him, had spit on him. Steve understood that the kid probably wanted to kill him somewhere in a mind clouded by grief. Because he'd been there. It scared him to think what he would have done to the single man who blasted Bucky out of that train.

Not all of Hydra, not Schmidt. But specifically the man who was responsible for killing his best friend- when Steve wasn't blaming himself at least (Bucky had been protecting _him_. Died protecting Captain America- the protect_or_). Bucky hadn't been shot, hadn't been wounded, and bare hands didn't shove him to his death, but there was no denying there was one person responsible for it. And Steve would have killed the man on the spot if he ever saw him again. Probably still would- if it wasn't seventy years later and they weren't all already dead.

Thor nodded slightly, considering the words, and then stepped a bit closer to Steve, "You cannot be expected to stop a death you were unaware was occurring. The child was disrespectful. You have done a lot for your planet, more than any of us, I dare say."

"He was grieving," Steve snapped back, near defensiveness, before sighing and shaking his head deftly, "If it were Loki? You'd like to pretend you don't care about him anymore, but I know the way you looked at him, regardless of what he did. He's still your brother. If someone had changed him, made him do what he did, would you-"

"Nobody changed my brother," Thor interrupted, voice unusually hard, "Loki chose his own course and so have we. We choose to protect the innocent, but not every destiny is in our hands. Grief does not make one guiltless for their own actions. There is little more you can do than fight to protect this city, and you have done it tenfold. Do not let guilt cloud your judgment and forsake future good."

Steve nodded heavily, his movements slow and controlled though he had little to say.

_What we are experiencing is not war_.

Sometimes war and everything else all felt the same.

Thor, however, was a man who seemed to always know what to say. And really, in many ways, Thor was as much a newcomer to this world as Steve was. The difference was that Thor tried to accept the world as it is, tried to understand life and embrace it. It may not be Asgard, but Thor made a point to make Earth his home regardless. Maybe Steve had a thing or two to learn from his teammate. God knows he was stuck here, stuck in the twenty first century with no going back. Perhaps if he devoted a little less time to rejecting this new life, he'd have a little more time to learn to accept it.

After a moment Thor stepped forward, clapping Steve hard on the shoulder, "You are a good captain, Steve Rogers. I cannot think of another whom I'd rather follow. You, my good friend, are irreplaceable in battle. I'd think you wise to remember that."

And that thing swelling up in Steve's chest now? That was gratitude- and it wasn't the first time Thor had brought it out in him.

Rising, Steve outstretched his undamaged hand, hoping the subtle move would express the sincere appreciation he felt, "Thank you, Thor." And there wasn't much else to say other than that. Steve could stand there and list all the times in the past several months he's wanted to thank his teammates, but the list was too long and he could probably use some work on the 'expressing his gratitude' front. How exactly do you thank people for continuously pulling you back from the edge?

Thor glanced at Steve's hand, and then looked back up to his face for a long moment, finally taking the gesture for what it was and shaking the outstretched limb firmly, "Do not blame yourself for what you cannot control. It is not supposed to be easy- this is what makes you a good man."

Steve smiled slightly, dropping his hand back to his side, "For what it's worth, I can't think of anyone else I'd rather have watching my back. This team is…" Steve trailed off, suddenly not being able to articulate what exactly this team was to him.

He wasn't sure there were enough words to express that feeling.

But not for the first time, Thor just seemed to understand him, "I know, Captain."

After a moment of absolute sincerity, Steve turned around, handing boxing gloves to Thor and carefully adorning his own hands with a matching pair, dried blood painless for the time being. "Have a minute?"

In place of a verbal response, Thor accepted the gloves with a wide smile.

Whether or not he was going through war, Steve figured he was pretty damn lucky to have _this_ team fighting alongside him. He could deal with everything that came along with it later.

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	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **I do not own The Avengers, nor do I own the related characters.

**Notes: **What can I say? I have no excuse for taking more than two months to update this story. I had a really, really hard time writing Bruce. After many re-writes, this is what I ended up with and I finally just had to post it, and I truly hope it lives up to your expectations. For now, I'm going to mark this story as complete, although I may add a chapter with Pepper in the future. I cannot say thank you enough to everyone who stuck with me and reviewed, favorited, alerted and just read this story. It honestly means so much, and I hope to keep up in this fandom and see you all again! And as a brief side note, I did not make up the character of James Falsworth. I found him on the Marvel Wiki under the Howling Commandos. Anyway, thanks again everyone, and enjoy!

**These New Days**

Reminding himself that he had volunteered for this didn't make it easier. Or less awkward, for that matter.

And really, in retrospect, he wasn't quite sure why he had been so quick to offer to be the one to bring his teammate back. Honestly, despite their social abnormalities and sometimes blatant lack of societal skills, every single one of the Avengers could comfort each other in some form. They had all had to do it at one point or another, after all. Whether through guilt or depression or fury, Bruce had comforted all of them and they had all been there for him in return.

Still, in many ways, this was different. Steve didn't exactly jump at the offer of friendship nowadays.

But despite this fact and regardless of how different they all may be, Bruce cared about them- all of them. Which is how he found the courage to drop onto the step next to their Captain, the bright lights of a busy hospital reflected on their backs. It wasn't, however, how he found any courage whatsoever to open his mouth.

Upon the arrival of his companion, Steve sniffed loudly, running a shaking hand over his face and scrubbing quickly at his nose. Bruce caught a brief glimpse of red eyes and his stomach tightened just a little bit. After a long couple minutes of awkward and near painful silence, Bruce finally spoke, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing his ankles, "We've been looking for you. Tony ran the GPS on your cell. I know it's not exactly screaming 'respect for privacy', but nobody has heard from you in two days, Steve."

Steve turned his head away from Bruce; knees raised and extended arms resting atop them.

Bruce nodded to himself, looking over at his friend, "We heard about James Falsworth. I'm sorry."

After a beat, Steve cleared his throat, "He was the last one." He still didn't look over, his voice gritty and hoarse, and Bruce would have liked to believe it wasn't because the otherwise hardened man beside him had been crying.

"I know," Bruce replied gently, "But it's been a more than a day since he passed away, Steve. What are you still doing here?"

Steve didn't answer right away, clearing his throat several times and wiping noisily at his nose again. Truthfully, he wasn't so sure what the hospital had to offer for him anymore. It hadn't been murder- there hadn't been any foul play whatsoever. The fact was simple: the only friend he had from his life back then had died of old age, and it was a bitter pill to swallow. He was surrounded by it, sitting in front of a hospital where few bothered him in hesitation of interrupting what was surely grief. After all, why else would he be here?

And why the hell hadn't he left?

"He was the last one," Steve repeated lamely, his voice impossibly quiet, practically a whisper that Bruce had to strain to hear through the city noise around them.

Allowing only a brief second of hesitation, Bruce reached an arm out and rested it on the back of Steve's neck, squeezing tightly, offering all he could by way of reassurance. In many ways, he was better than the rest of them by means of physical comfort. After all, he had been trained to mend the body and along the way had learned to mend the soul too. And after years of suppressing all emotion with fear of letting his ugly side show, Bruce was finally learning to let go just a little bit. He was finally surrounded by a group of people who accepted him- who weren't even _afraid_.

In them giving him strength, he had fine-tuned returning it.

"You shouldn't have looked this far, Steve," he wasn't reprimanding, just thinking aloud- the same thoughts they had all pushed upon Steve when he first starting searching for all the loved ones he had left behind, "It's been over seventy years. They wouldn't want you to do this to yourself."

But he had done it to himself- willingly and eagerly.

Steve had to know, he _had to know_ what had become of everyone he had loved.

Knowing was a different pain though, knowing that they had all lived and all died and he was left with nothing of his previous life. If he was being realistic (a feat in face of mass loss), he knew it was unfair of him to grieve for people who had, for the most part, lived long and happy lives. He still grieved every day for Bucky, but nearly all of the rest of them had gone on to have success and families, and most importantly they had all moved on.

Colonel Phillips, all of his fellow soldiers and the Howling Commandos, including James Falsworth who died just a couple days ago in the hospital Steve couldn't leave at the age of ninety one.

Hell, Peggy Carter lived to seventy six. Married with two children and five grandchildren.

Seventy six.

And Steve Rogers wasn't sure he could make it to thirty with the weight of this knowledge practically suffocating him.

Bruce sighed after what felt like a lifetime, keeping his hand firm on Steve's neck and pinching the bridge of his nose under his glasses, "Losing everything- it's not, I mean, I know. I know it's not easy. I know it will never be the same. Trust me, _I know_."

And finally Steve turned his head, looking up under uncharacteristically shaggy hair, and he felt like maybe he was really looking at Bruce for the first time. Quiet Bruce who mediates and understands and spends so much time just knowing the answer to _everything_ that sometimes it makes Steve dizzy. Bruce who would sit with him all night, a simple touch with a hint of fondness grounding him, if that's what it took. If nothing else in the world was working out right now, it was maybe just enough for Steve to know that little fact at least.

Bruce met Steve's bloodshot eyes with a humorless laugh, "I left behind everything to avoid unleashing the 'monster'. And everyone. I would have given _anything_, to go back to the life I didn't want before this happened, but there isn't a damn thing I can do," he gave Steve's neck one last squeeze and then dropped his hand, rubbing his palms together and then removing his glasses, "And there's nothing you can do either. Everyone from then- they're gone, Steve, and they're not coming back. And I know it hurts and I know that in a lot of ways what I'm talking about will never be the same thing, but you have people here too. And we aren't going anywhere. I swear."

Steve swallowed a lump and nodded tightly, "I know. I know that. It's just- it's not-"

"I know," Bruce interrupted softly, replacing his glasses, "It's not the same. But perhaps instead of sitting here and grieving alone you could come back with me and let us help. You guard us like we're going to up and leave or suddenly drop dead on you, but we're not. Your friends- they got to live long and happy lives, but I guarantee they all would have been even happier if you had been able to be a part of it. You knew a lot of good people, good soldiers, and if Howard Stark is any indication, you were missed like crazy. And now these good people, these friends you're missing, they'd want you to live too. To move on. You survived, Steve. Maybe now it's time to live?"

Steve shook his head, though he couldn't formulate any sort of denial, and tightened his already quivering jaw.

"You've put yourself through enough. It's time to move on."

Bruce clasped a firm hand on Steve's knee, pushing himself up and standing, stretching onto his toes for a moment and then reaching a hand down in front of his friend.

"Let's go back to the Tower, okay? It's cold and you've probably been sitting here all day," Steve looked hesitantly at Bruce's hand, eyes finally looking a little clearer, and Bruce sighed, "You can go up to your room and stay there all night if you want, okay? But I'm not leaving here without you."

Steve diverted his eyes, running a hand over his face and hair and then letting out a long breath before finally accepting the outstretched hand, allowing himself to be pulled up and then clapping a hand on Bruce's back, "Thanks for, ah… thanks for coming."

"You're welcome," after permitting a brief moment for Steve to collect himself, Bruce began leading the way to one of Tony Stark's many cars, not having to look to know the taller man would be following him.

The streets were quiet and the two fell into an easy pace next to each other, a comfortable silence stretching over the pair until Bruce took another glance at Steve, who was looking in the opposite direction, "It will be okay, you know? It may not be the same, but it'll be okay."

Finally Steve smiled just a little, though Bruce was pretty certain his thoughts still weren't quite in this moment, "Thank you, Bruce. You're a good friend."

Steve was always sincere. Bruce respected that.

In place of a response, Bruce offered Steve a polite smile and a brief head nod, and he knew they had reached some sort of understanding.

Steve didn't have much left to say, hadn't had too much to say in the first place, but this wasn't the first time one of these friends of his had pulled him up. Bruce was one of the very few people Steve had ever met who could express himself calmly, rationally, and logically and do all of it while still being incredibly kind. And maybe he was right, maybe they did have a lot in common- he and Bruce. Maybe it was time to see that he had people here who would sit through countless awkward conversations and heartfelt reassurances and still be there to fight along his side in the morning.

After all, Bruce was, first foremost, _right_.

Everything that was there for him back then was gone. Steve knew that was the point, even if Bruce hadn't said so quite as explicitly. Falsworth was the last one and now it was time for him to stop allowing his grief to take a physical form. He would always remember them, but now it was time for him to move on and start making memories _now_. It was time to start doing things that mattered _now_.

Perhaps tomorrow he could walk with his head a little bit higher, he could maybe miss them a little less than every single moment. He had a life worth protecting now, even if sometimes it was aggravating and frustrating and just so damn painfully _different_ that he thought he might explode. He wasn't quite sure how his teammates had become such a driving force in his life, had become his friends and his backbone, but it was a fact that they were all he had now. All he had left, and it was time to start protecting what he had.

It was time to live.

CƆ CƆ CƆ CƆ


End file.
